


A Tragedy of Errors

by wine_dark_seashells



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Young Legolas Greenleaf, gearing up for an AU series, i guess, just a drabble really, uhh... blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:02:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25241365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wine_dark_seashells/pseuds/wine_dark_seashells
Summary: The night air stank of blood, but there were flowers under that, somewhere. A bloodthirsty killer questions his nature. Why should you shed tears for the enemy?
Kudos: 9





	A Tragedy of Errors

**Author's Note:**

> Hey peeps!  
> This is just a drabble, really. I'm gearing up for an AU series that I've been wanting to write for a while. This is the first introduction of the main character. All will be explained later, I promise!

Why did he pause? It was his nature, his job. He _liked_ it. He took pleasure in destruction and death. He was an orc, after all. 

So why did he falter?

Maybe it was the way that this elf did not try to run. This elf did not plead, nor beg for his life. He merely sat where he had fallen to his companions’ arrow, leg bloodied. The smell of blood was rich and sweet in the air but somehow, at the end of the battle, he lived on. 

The elfling - for only an elfling could be so small yet so wise-looking - looked up at him with big, blue eyes. His gold hair, ragged and soiled with muck and mud, fell about his shoulders in disarray with every panting breath. 

He lowered his sword in confusion. Why could he not simply kill him? Many others had fallen to his wicked scimitar. _They_ had pleaded, and begged, and sobbed for their lives. They were dead now. He had killed them. 

The orc blinked. The elfling was not running. Still? Why did he linger here? He could kill the tiny creature easily. The thing should run. Scream. Sob or plead. Do anything at all, really. It was unnerving him. It was creepy. All children cowered and shrieked in his presence, so why not this one? There were too many questions. He raised his scimitar again, fully intent on silencing those pitiful gasps for breath. Then he lowered it again. He couldn't do it.

With a final growl, the orc turned away from the boy, admitting defeat. He hated to back down from one so helpless, but he simply could not kill him. He couldn’t even think about it. 

As he turned, he felt a piercing, stabbing pain in his stomach. He looked down at the arrow which had appeared there. He looked back at the elfling, watching him stand at last. He wobbled on his injured leg, but stood strong. 

_Painhurtripstabhurt._

The orc crumpled, succumbing to the bite of steel. A tear slipped down the elfling’s pale cheek as he watched the orc die. He touched a finger to the droplet, his eyes widening in surprise. 

Why did he cry for an orc? Was it because it had spared his life? Because of that tiny flash of defiance and resignation in it's murky yellow eyes? Was it because he had learned the history of the orcs only yesterday? Something that had once been an elf couldn't be completely dreadful, could it? They were like the opposite sides of a coin, day and night, but one was a cheap copy, made of spite and hatred. Yet a trace of the true self existed in the false self, apparently. 

Why else would it not have killed him when he had the chance? There were too many questions and not enough answers, as warriors swarmed the clearing. There was an anguished shout. A blur of silver and gold landed at his feet, shaking. The elfling looked past his frantic father and felt more tears run down his cheeks.

This night would be forever cemented in the elfling's memory as the worst of his life. It was natural to cry as familiar arms held his.

But still, why would he cry for an orc?


End file.
